Quietus
by Jollification
Summary: Soda is fighting in Vietnam and has left Ponyboy and Darry back in Tulsa. But when tragedy strikes, Darry must make the heartbreaking choice as to whether to tell Sodapop the truth or pretend that everything is like it was before.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Own nothing but the plot

**Author:** Jollification

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Quietus

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I kick at the pebbles on the street, my mind preoccupied with things far more important.

Darry is going to be mad.

My pace slows at the thought of my angry older brother. I shove my fists deeper into my pockets. I can hear him now:

"_Pony, use your head! You didn't even walk with anybody! You coulda been jumped!"_

I let out a sigh. Who was I supposed to take to the movies with me? The only remnants of the gang were Darry and Two-bit. Neither of them could sit still through a movie. Darry was always working and Two-Bit was drunk out of his mind half of the time. I had no choice but to go by myself. I winced at the though of my middle brother and his irritating buddy. Soda and Steve were both in Nam.

I feel a familiar pressure build up behind my eyes at the thought of my brother.

He was fighting in a war that didn't even concern him, it wouldn't matter if Soda wasn't there, they could get along fine without him. I just want my brother back.

My nightmares are an every night occurrence now. I wake in a sweat, not remembering a thing, and almost call for Soda. But then the realization that Soda is practically on the other side of the world dawns on me, and I curl back up and try to fight the fear that remains off by myself. I would never think about waking Darry up, he has enough troubles as it is. Darry never smiles anymore, not even when I bring A's home from school. He's always working hard and late almost everyday to try and make ends meet now. Plus, the added stress of knowing that Soda's getting shot at really has worn him down. He looks like a walking ghost most of the time, just floating on by, not saying a word.

I mentally cringe at my use of words. Soda's getting shot at.

My vision blurs and I feel heavy teardrops roll down my cheeks, leaving behind trails of salt water. I rub at my eyes with the back of my hands, willing the tears away. It wouldn't look good if someone I know caught me crying in the middle of the street like a big baby. I try to shake the thoughts of Soda out of my head and try to replace them with thoughts of the movie I just saw.

_Bonnie and Clyde_ was a swell movie. There was tons of action: car chases, bank robberies, and shoot-outs. Good thing I didn't take Two-bit, he probably woulda gone out and had a high-speed car chase with someone. Not to mention that the lady who played Bonnie, Faye Dunaway I think her name was, was a real looker. She was almost as pretty as that Girl in the Yellow Dress I had seen at school a while back.

'_Bonnie would have been alright with me whipping out a blade in the middle of class,'_ I thought to myself.

Clyde was real tuff looking. His hair was perfect and he always had a cigar in his mouth; I'm sure he got all the ladies. In a lot of ways he reminded me of Soda; always getting into fights because he said something smart, but always calm and collected when it came time to take care of business. That was my brother, alright. Except Soda is goofy and hyper all the time. He probably couldn't sit still long enough to drive a get-away car, let alone rob a bank.

I tear myself from my musings and pick my pace back up; I really want to get home before Darry starts looking for me.

The only sound I hear on the vacant street is the slight slapping of my worn shoes against the pavement. I let out a breath, watching as it hangs in the chilly air in front of me. I shiver. I had forgotten how cold it was.

'_At least he won't yell at me for not wearing a jacket,' _I think a bit proudly. One of my biggest vices is forgetting my jacket on cold days…that and smoking cigs. Darry always lectures me about getting sick and how we can't afford medical bills, to lay off the smokes and remember my jacket. I really don't mean to forget stuff, just sometimes I don't think. The smokes I could never give up, they soothed my nerves about Soda. As long as Soda was in Nam, I would smoke like a chimney.

Rounding the corner, I walk briskly up onto the sidewalk, the chain fence surrounding my front yard coming into view. Darry's truck is parked in the street. My feet find their way up the walkway and onto the porch, the lights are a dim yellow, and I can see Darry reading the paper in his favorite armchair. I sigh. Here it comes.

I swing open the screen door and before I step into the house completely Darry is up from the chair.

"Pony, where were you? It's almost 12 o'clock!"

I look down at my feet, trying to think of what to say. "I went to go see a movie Dar," I explain. I wait for the yelling, the grounding, but nothing comes. I look up, surprised.

Darry stares at me and than quietly asks "What movie?"

I momentarily reel from shock. I was definitely not expecting that. I stutter out "Bonnie and Clyde" and I feel his blue eyes on me. A weary sigh escapes his lips. A tired sigh, like he is carrying a heavy load.

"Just make sure to get home earlier next time, I was outta my mind with worry. Now go to bed." He commands strictly. He doesn't look very happy that I'm late, but that's alright with me as long as I don't get grounded.

Still shocked from the lack of anger from my brother, I walk straight to my room without giving a second glance to my brother. Throwing my jacket on the bedroom floor I quickly make my way over to the beat up dresser in my room. I put all my weight into pulling the drawer that contains my pajamas open. At one point or another Soda had stuffed the drawer full of clothes, not bothering to fold them, and it busted from too much weight. With one last tug it flies open, sending me tripping backwards onto the bed. The dresser drawer falls to the floor with a loud bang and my pajamas spew everywhere. Soda would have fell over with laughter.

I let out a sigh and picked the drawer up. Finally after I get all my clothes folded and put back in the dresser I stare at the contents of the broken drawer.

My clothes lay neatly on one side; the other side is empty. That's where Sodapop's clothes would have gone. I can almost see his balled up DX shirts.

I shut the drawer loudly and toss on my pajamas quickly, making my way to the bed. I can almost imagine Soda sprawled on the bed, exhausted and fully clad in work attire. I smile to myself at the thought of my goofy brother. As I pull up the sheets I reach onto my nightstand and grab one of the only things that keeps me sane.

Soda's monthly letter.

I reread each one every night, until a new one arrives in the mail. It's like the only thing I have left of him; the only thing that assures me he's still fighting and will come back safe. Getting comfortable, my eyes scan the letter, taking in every minute detail of his chicken-scratch handwriting. The ways he loops his o's and the way he crosses his t's. It all reminds me of Sodapop. I touch the letter with the tips of my fingers, slowly grazing them over the words. I read the letter to myself, imagining Soda's voice in my head:

_Dear Ponyboy,_

_How ya doin' kid? Hope you're not giving Darry too much of a hard time! How's Two-bit doin'? Bet he's still eating all our chocolate cake. I can't tell you where I am right now, but it sure is hot! Much hotter than anything we had back home, I can tell you that much! Nothing is really going on with me, I haven't really seen any fighting in a couple of days, and it's starting to get a little boring without anything to do. I keep on winning cigarettes in card games, you would be in Heaven with how many Cancer Sticks I have now. But mostly I give em away, cause you know I don't really like to smoke that much. You should really see the sunsets over here; they're beautiful. They're all pink and red, with blotches of yellow and orange. You'd love 'em. I hope you're doin' alright and getting' good grades. Darry will probably send me your report card! Uh oh, some of the guys are starting to yell at me to go to sleep, that my flashlight is keeping them awake, so I got to go. Be safe and don't try to do anything too dumb._

_Love,_

_Sodapop_

I smile at Soda's letter; at least he's still finding ways to have fun.

Placing the letter on my nightstand, I click the light off, bathing the room in darkness. The only sliver of light in the room is coming from the crack under the door. I turn on my side and close my eyes, hoping that perhaps I won't have a nightmare tonight, but deep down, I know I will.

"Night Soda," I say to the darkness hoping that somehow he'll hear me and know I'm thinking about him.

Silence answers me back.

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This chapter was a little short, the next one will be longer. Thanks for reading and feel free to review! I'm always open to constructive criticism!


	2. Chapter 2

_Fire._

_There is fire everywhere._

_The only light is coming from the pale moon and the dancing flames. The screams of men reach my ears and the distant sound of explosions and gunfire make me shake with fear._

_I jump as an explosion less than a yard away sends dirt clumps and grass flying at me. I dodge the falling debris, running blindly. I hear the cries of fallen men, some of them are calling for loved ones, who are not really there; it's just their war-torn minds trying to give them some comfort in their last moments of agonizing life. There are spurts of gunfire that make me jump, but I keep running; I need to get out of here._

_I can't see where I'm going, my eyes are lost in the black smoke, but my feet find their way._

_Run faster. I must run faster._

_Instantly my brain registers that my feet are no longer touching ground, but I try to keep moving my legs anyways. I fall for what seems like minutes, until the smell of rich earth meets me. A sharp pain erupts in my head. I hit something._

_Holding my head, I stand up on shaky legs and look around. I fell into a trench._

_There are men shouting and every few seconds a shot of light emits from the barrels of their guns. I jump and the ear-splitting sound of rapid gunfire deafens me momentarily. I look around the narrow trench and my eyes land on bodies. _

_Bodies everywhere._

_Young men reach their hands up towards me, begging me to save them, their eyes pleading. Some of them are covered in blood, others are just scared and need someone to tell them everything will be alright._

_I want to help them, I need to help them! I can't just let them die. I go to move forward, but my feet won't move. It's like I'm stuck to the ground. _

_There's one thing I can do though._

_I double over and vomit. My eyes water and my nose burns, I gag, trying to get the remaining bile out of my throat. The blanketing feeling of fear doesn't leave my body as I look up into the eyes of the fallen soldiers._

_Shamed, I turn away. I can't do anything for them._

_I run down the long trench, ignoring angry calls and forceful commands, I don't know what I'm doing here. Running further, jumping over fallen men, I come to a halt as someone stands in the way of my escape. I look up and bone-chilling fear shoots through me, radiating down my spine and into my fingertips._

_Brown eyes stare back at me._

_They're not the dancing, happy eyes of my older brother. They are dull and dead, the eyes of a haggard and tired soldier. I take in his appearance and let out a strangled scream as my eyes fall upon his figure._

_Gaping bullet wounds riddle his body, blood slowly saturating his uniform, turning it crimson. He has cuts and bruises, and looks like he got into a fight with the ground. He's covered in dirt and blood. Unconsciously, I take a step back, trying to move away from Soda._

_This isn't my brother. This is someone else; someone has replaced my brother. This is someone's cruel idea of a joke. The figure looks shocked that I'm trying to get away from him, he takes a step forward, closing the space between us._

"_What's wrong Pone, it looks like you've seen a ghost," he speaks soothingly. I try to back up away from the horrifying figure and I stumble backwards, slamming into the ground. I look at what could have tripped me. Soda's handsome face greets me, brown eyes staring from the face of the corpse I tripped over. I have the intense feeling that I need to vomit again. I dry heave but nothing comes up. Looking up, my eyes meet the gruesome form of my brother, still walking forward, speaking to me soothingly._

"_Are you alright Pony?" Soda asks. He makes a grab for my arm to pull me up, but I shrink back, fear reverberating through my body. A hurt look falls upon his bloody features._

"_What's wrong Ponyboy? Aren't you happy to see me?" He smiles, and blood gushes from his mouth and down his chin._

I scream and fall out of bed.

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A thump and an ear-piercing scream shake me from my sleep. I jump to my feet and fling my bedroom door open, bounding down the hallway to Pony and Soda's room. Throwing the door open, I flick on the nearest switch and bathe the room in light. My eyes immediately falling on a mass on the floor, which seems to be struggling in the blankets. Panicked screams of fear radiate from the frantic mound.

Ponyboy.

I lunge forward, all the while saying soothing words.

"It's alright Pony, you just had a nightmare," I try to calm him down. I don't think he can hear me, because his screams are still coming full force.

'_God, he has some lungs on him,'_ I think absentmindedly. I somehow manage to untangle him from the mass of blankets and a panic-stricken Ponyboy meets my sight. He's shaking like a leaf and his gray nightshirt is soaked through with sweat. Must have been one hell of a nightmare.

"Pony, are you alright?" I ask my youngest brother. Wide green eyes dart back and forth around the room, as if searching for something, or someone.

Pony's pale features finally meet mine and he blurts out a hoarse "Where is he?"

I'm taken aback. Who? Did someone break into the house? I glance around the room. None of the windows are shattered or opened; I look back to my brother. "Who, Ponyboy?"

He looks at me with fearful eyes. "Soda, where is Soda?" he demands.

I give a sigh. He just had a nightmare and is calling for Sodapop. The usual. I put my hand to his shoulder and he momentarily flinches beneath my grasp. He looks like a caged animal, wild and scared. I try to explain.

"Soda's in Vietnam, Ponyboy, you know that," I try to express as calmly and slowly as possible. He looks at me and opens his mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. His eyes dart around the room, searching for Soda, as if I lied to him and our middle brother is going to jump out and say 'Surprise'. He glances at me, still shaking.

"N-no," he stutters, "he was just hear."

Oh yeah, it was _definitely_, one hell of a nightmare.

"No Ponyboy, he's in Vietnam, laying in the sun, gettin' a tan," I try to calm him down. Of course Soda isn't getting a tan, but what should I have said to him? _'No Ponyboy, Soda's getting shot at?'_ He'd be up for a week straight if I told him that while he was still in such a delicate mood right after a nightmare.

"Soda's in Vietnam?" He asks, a little shocked.

I eye him warily. He seems to have calmed down a bit. He isn't shakin' like a leaf anymore and a little bit of his color seems to have returned.

"Yes, Soda's in Vietnam, right now," I assert. "It was all just a nightmare Ponyboy," I try to explain. He looks at me one more time, as if I'm lying to him, and he seems to come to his senses. I let out a breath. Damn nightmares.

"Just…a nightmare…" he mumbles to himself.

I pull him up carefully, making sure his doesn't trip over the pile of blankets at his feet. "It was just a nightmare," I say for what seems like the tenth time, "how bout you try to get back to sleep?" I ask. He looks at me and slowly starts to nod his head.

"Yeah…go back to sleep…I'm okay," he says, throwing the mess of blankets onto the bed. I give him a slight pat on the back and tousle his hair affectionately.

'_He'll be alright,'_ I try to convince myself. I quickly exit the room and make my way to the kitchen. I grab a cup from the cabinet and fill it with water from the sink. Padding my way back down the hallway, I enter his bedroom, ready to give my brother the glass of water to try and calm his nerves. My efforts go unneeded as I walk into the bedroom and my eyes land on the form of my youngest brother, fast asleep.

Happy that he got back to sleep so quickly, I place the glass of water on his nightstand. I turn off the switch and the room goes dark. I give one last glance to my brother, passed out and already dreaming, in the bed. I shut the door quietly and make my way slowly back to my room, trying to step over the squeakier floorboards to avoid making any noise.

I flop into bed and glance at the alarm clock on my dresser. The red lights flash '2:33 a.m.' and I give an exhausted sigh.

I shut my eyes and try to fall back to sleep.

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"Gooooood morning Tulsa, and say hello to a dreary, cold day" a voice startles me from my sleep. I quickly slam off my alarm clock and fall back into bed. My head hurts.

I had a nightmare last night.

Yet, this one was different. I actually remember it. Images of a bloody Soda flash through my mind and my stomach plummets. I feel sick.

I rush out of my room, flinging open my bedroom door, the loud slam it makes against the wall echoing throughout the house. I vaguely hear Darry ask "What's going on?" from the kitchen, but I'm too busy trying to not puke all over the floor. I lunge forward into the bathroom and grab onto the toilet just in time to throw up everything that was in my stomach.

After what seems like 10 minutes of vomiting, I wipe my mouth and fall back onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom. I notice Darry standing in the doorway, eyeing me.

"Feel better?" he questions me.

I nod my head, but I still don't feel too hot. It must have been something I ate yesterday not agreeing with me. At least I don't need to throw up anymore. I feel a cold hand press against my forehead and I look up to see Darry lumbering over me.

'_From down here, he looks like a giant,'_ I think to myself vaguely. He gives a brief sigh.

"Looks like you got yourself a little bit of a temperature kiddo," he explains. I get to my feet shakily and walk past him, making my way to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I fill it at the sink and drink the whole glass in under 20 seconds. I sure am thirsty.

"You should stay home today," I hear Darry saying in the background. I hear him say something about him staying home too, and sirens go off in my head. Darry can't miss any work! Recent memories of Darry bent over bills at the kitchen table greet my mind, and I start to disagree.

"No Dar, don't stay home, I'm not that bad," I try to convince him. It's really nothing, just the after shock from that horrible nightmare I had last night. I grimace as flashes of the nightmare flash before my eyes. I let out an exhausted sigh.

I didn't realize how tired I am.

I have a math test today but I'm sure I can make it up. The teacher, Mr. Watson, is really swell. He always lets me turn in late work and doesn't take off tons of points. Dare I say his leniency is the only reason I'm pulling an A in his class. I zone out of my ramblings and hear Darry droning in the background. I look over to him as he throws on a t-shirt.

"I'll call Two-bit and have him come over and watch you," he says, making his way over to the phone. I feel a twinge of irritation at his words. I'm not 6 years old anymore, I'm 15, and I don't need someone to watch me like a hawk! I realize that any protest would probably be pointless. If anything, Two-bit will just sit in front of the television and zone out to Mickey Mouse, beer in hand and chocolate cake in front of him.

"Just take some aspirin and go back to sleep," I hear Darry command.

I have no problem with that; I'm exhausted. Darry hurries around the house for a few more minutes. After picking up shoes and washing the dishes he makes his way over to me and tousles my hair. "I'll see you later kid," he says, "don't try to give Two-bit too much trouble." He swings the front door open and I soon hear the revving of the engine pull away from the house.

I sit on the couch, and listen to the silence of the house. It's kind of creepy. I hear the hum of the icebox in the kitchen and the drip-drop of the leaky faucet in the bathroom.

It's times like these when I really miss Soda.

He would be hanging over me, asking if I feel all right, offering me chocolate cake. He would be playing cards with Steve and getting in an argument with him. Than, before I'd know it, they'd be rolling around on the floor in a wrestling match.

I try to ignore the ache in my chest.

I miss Sodapop so much. Home just isn't the same without his goofy smile and happy-go-lucky remarks.

I'm torn from my thoughts as I hear heavy footsteps come up the porch and the thwack of the screen door hitting the wall. Looking up, my eyes land on the jovial face of Two-bit.

"Lucy, I'm home," he says, while loping over to me, quickly placing his hand on my forehead. I push his hand away, irritated that he got here so quick.

"Dang kid, you've gotten sick more in one month than I have in my whole life," he jokes. I shrug at his remark. He shakes it off, unfazed, and makes his way into the kitchen. I hear him rummaging through the icebox and two minutes later he returns with the chocolate cake, carefully balanced on his right hand.

"Want some, kid?"

I shake my head. He shrugs and flips on the television with his free hand, it blazes to life, and Mickey's voice fills the room. I sit and watch the cartoon for about 5 minutes, listening to Two-bit laugh his butt off every time something happens. I get up and make my way to my bedroom.

"Where you goin'?" Two-bit questions, not taking his eyes off the television.

"I'm gonna go see if I can fall to sleep, I'm pretty tired," I explain. He gives a mumble and doesn't say anything more.

Padding my way down the hallway, I hear Two-bit's laugh echo after me. I collapse on my bed, my mind preoccupied with nightmares, Soda, Mickey, and chocolate cake. Before I know it, everything melts into darkness and I slip into sleep.

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This was like, the fastest I've ever updated. Yay! Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! Thanks for reading and feel free to review! Next chapter: Soda!


	3. Chapter 3

I feel sweat trickle from my hairline and down my face, leaving a brief trail of coolness in it's wake. I scrunch my face in momentary discomfort, feeling the tight, tanned skin around my eyes pull in protest of the action.

Damn, it's hot. Hotter than anything I've ever felt. I imagine that this is how a marshmallow must feel when it's cooking over a fire.

I briefly become aware of the painful feeling of my pack straps cutting into my shoulders and try to shift the weight from my shoulders momentarily, slinging my gun onto the other shoulder so I can adjust my pack.

"Dang Curtis, you look like you're 'bout ready to spontaneously combust!" I hear a teasing voice say. I turn my head to the right, ignoring the beads of sweat that run down my face in the process. There stands Terry, grin as huge as ever, barley breaking a sweat. I mentally curse him for being so used to this kind of weather. He takes big, over exaggerated steps next to me, and I know that he's becoming bored with all the walking we've been doing. Terry basically has the attention span of a squirrel; he constantly needs some form of entertainment, which usually takes the form of talking nonstop. I smirk as a picture of Two-bit enters my mind; they would be able to talk the ear of a corpse.

"-and then I said to him 'I'll hit you so hard, when you wake up, your clothes will be outta style!'," he finishes, laughing loudly to himself. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for my input on the story that I obviously wasn't listening to. I put on a big grin and his face goes blank.

"Soda, you weren't even listenin' to me, were you?"

"Sorry Terry, I was thinking about something else." Which isn't a fib; I had been thinking bout something else. Completely daydreaming.

He cracks a grin and I know that his feelings aren't hurt.

"Shoot Soda, you thinkin' 'bout one of those pretty blondes you got back home, chasin' you all over town day n' night?" He laughs again.

I smile. For once, my brain wasn't totally spewing out daydreams of blondes. I had been thinking about my brothers, something I seemed to do a lot of these days. My smile falls and I don't answer him.

A cloud of seriousness falls over us briefly, but not for long before Terry starts flapping his gums again. "Shoot Soda, you don't think I worry 'bout my family none? You can't think of them all day, or you'll get sick with worry," he explains. I nod my head wordlessly.

Terry comes from a big southern family. His Dad's a Baptist minister and his Mom has the job of raising Terry and his seven sisters and one younger brother. Terry had told me some stories about his family, they really reminded me of the gang. His brother, who just so happens to be the baby of the family, always gets roped into playing house and dress up with his sisters. The poor kid was in shambles when his only brother left to go fight in the war and Terry was confident that when he got back home, his brother would be insane. I laugh out loud, trying to imagine the gang dressing up Pony or trying to make him play house or something.

Terry must know that I'm thinking about his poor brother, cause he fills me in on the details. "George sent me a letter on Monday, begging me to come home and save him from our sisters. He says that they follow him everywhere and that if I don't come home he's gonna be forced to runaway, for his own good of course," he laughs. From what I've heard of his brother George, he reminds me of Pony in a lot of ways; always getting roped into doing stuff with the gang, when I'm sure he would much rather be reading or writing or something.

I watch as Terry shifts his gun onto his other shoulder and lets out an over exaggerated sigh. He kicks at the dull, orange dirt of the path we're walking on with the toe of his boot, making clouds of rusty looking dust puff up in front of us.

He decides to be smart, and pipe ups "When we gonna be done with this walkin'?! My legs are about to fall off!" His grin grows five times bigger as he waits for a reply from Louis, our platoon leader. He doesn't have to wait long as we hear an angry Louis, disposition made meaner by the heat, scream at him colorfully.

"Goddammit Heaton! Shut the fuck up or I'm gonna come back there and give you something to whine about! Keep your loud mouth shut or you're gonna get shot!" he yells angrily. Terry's trying to control his laughter; he loves to get yelled at for some reason; which is how we met basically.

I had said a smart comment to a boot camp drill instructor, one I remembered Dally saying to me once, and I ended up having to scrub the latrine floors with a toothbrush for five hours. About one hour in, Terry comes walking in with a bucket and toothbrush, cheerfully recounting the story of how he punched one of the other soldiers in the face after he had said something about his mother.

"My Momma always told me 'Terrance, you better never start a fight, but you can finish them if you want'," he had grinned, a dark, purple circle starting to show up around his eye. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and after that, we became pretty good friends. It was sheer luck that he had been put into the same platoon as me.

When stuff got rough, I would watch his back and he would watch mine. We vowed that no matter what, if one of us happened to kick the bucket, we would somehow contact each other's family and give them the news ourselves. We didn't want it to come to that, but when you get shot at everyday, it becomes a possibility that you may take one of those bullets the wrong way, and end up going home. In a box.

Of course, I don't tell Pony and Darry this stuff; the getting shot at business. Darry's already stressed as it is, tryin' to make ends meet and watch out for Pony now that half the gang was gone. All that's left is Two-bit; Steve signed up for the marines, so he's God-knows where. Of course I don't ever mention guns or bullets in my monthly letter to Ponyboy; kid would go up the walls with worry. So basically, I tried to keep it relatively clean for him. I mostly tell him how I don't really see any action, about how hot it is, about the sunsets, and about how I spend my free time. Mostly, I ask him questions. How is school? How are Darry and Two-bit? That sort of thing.

Truth be told, I worry about him more than I worry about getting shot at. Darry tells me all the time about his nightmares and how they've gotten really bad. Apparently, he wakes up sometimes and doesn't know where he is for a while. Darry won't tell me straight out, but I know that the nightmares are about me.

Call it a brother's intuition.

I vaguely hear Terry jabbering on in the back of my mind and I can't help but bring something painful up for him.

"Terry, you got a smoke?"

Instantly, he falls quiet, and I have to hold in my laughter at what is about to come.

"Sodapop Curtis! You damn well know I don't got no cancer sticks on a count of you keep takin' them from me in poker games!" he says, the volume of his voice rising. I laugh. Terry is a big smoker, and since the only thing we have to use as currency around here is cigarettes, that's what we use to bet with in card games. Needless to say, Terry is worse at playing cards then he is at being quiet. I hear him mumbling next to me, saying something along the lines of 'You don't even smoke!' and I try not to fall on the ground in fit of laughter. I turn to say something to him when I hear the unmistakable sound of a bullet cutting through air.

I hear a deep thud and feel a warm spray hit my face.

Terry's face is a mixture of shock and fear as he falls to his knees, trying to keep his blood from rushing out of the gaping gun wound in his chest. I feel a shot of adrenaline run up my spine as the slow motion around me speeds up and the deafening noise of gunfire rains down on us. I lunge for Terry, trying to keep him from hitting the ground, but my fingers graze his shoulders and he lands on the orange dirt with a thud, pushing up smalls clouds of dust. I quickly turn him over, and my stomach drops to my feet.

Blood is pouring from his lips and nose and small, bubbling coughs are coming from his throat, causing specks of crimson to fleck his camouflage in messy patterns.

I feel my muscles freeze over in panic and for a split second, I don't know what to do.

Terry starts to convulse and spew up blood more and I know in the back of my mind that this is the kind of thing someone does before they die. Unwanted images of the night when Dally got shot down rush through my mind, and for an instant, Terry looks just like Dally; bleeding from his ears and gobs of blood coming from his gun shot wound. I hear someone screaming for a medic and I vaguely register that the person sounds a lot like me. I scream at Terry, demanding him to stay with me, tell me about his family, anything to keep him for a little while longer. My hope flutters to the recesses of my chest as his shaking stops beneath my hands, and his eyes grow dim.

The death look.

I know it all too well. Dally, Terry, they all get the same look in their eyes when they die; endless depths of black, blank and staring, like a doll's eyes.

I wheel back quickly and empty my stomach contents onto the ground next to his body. I heave as nothing else comes up, long drops of drool coming from my mouth, and the revolting smell of acid lingering in my nose. I barley have time to register someone hauling me up by my shoulders and carrying me away. I try to fight the grip, but it's strong and the shock of having Terry's blood all over me is causing me to think a little slowly. I hear angry cursing and I look up, my eyes meeting the steel-gray eyes of Louis.

"Fuck Curtis! What the fuck were you doing out there, kneeling in the middle of that damn road?! You want to get your ass shot?!" he hollers, and I flinch as the sound of guns firing on the enemy assaults my ears. My mind gets slapped back into deafening reality as I hear Louis bark out orders. I rip the gun off my shoulder and run to take cover in the nearest ditch, silently hoping that there aren't any spikes in the ditch waiting for me. I had heard a story once of how a platoon was surprised by an attack and when they all went to take cover in some ditches, they were all impaled on a rack of spikes, which had been put there weeks earlier by the Charlies.

I hold my breath as I drop in, waiting for the imminent feeling of sharp spikes ramming through my body.

Nope, still alive.

I can't help but grin to myself. A bullet hits the dirt next to my head and I jump about five feet. I whip my gun around, lining up the sight, searching for who shot at me. My sight meets one of the enemies, and I gulp in hesitation. 'Do I really want to do this?' flicks through my mind at lightening speed; it's an odd feeling, playing with someone's life. Never have I felt so powerful as I stare down the length of my gun, finger on the trigger, deciding if this man should go home tonight, should go back to killing more of my friends. A picture of Terry and Dally flashes through my mind, and even though I don't want to admit it, a shot of something shoots up my spine and vibrates into the tips of my fingers.

Revenge.

I want him, some man I've never even met before this day, to die for my friends. I want him to suffer for what his comrades have done.

I blink as my gun bucks backwards, spitting out a bullet across the path, hitting the man in the chest.

He doesn't get up.

My eyes search for more enemies, passing over tall grass and shrubs, willing myself to find another body. In one of the other trenches I hear a yell of anguish, and I realize that it's one of the guys from my platoon. I can't even remember his name right now, the chaos of the war screaming around me muting my thoughts. His urgent cries of 'Medic, Medic!' reach my ears, and even though I'm not a medic, I want to help him; I need to help him. My head whipping back and forth violently, I search to make sure the coast is relatively clear so I can run across.

Looks good.

I grip my gun tighter and push myself up from my position on my stomach, my boots touching the dusty earth.

I sprint across the orange path, watching as the small stretch of land grows smaller, the ditch coming into view. A loud shot rings through the air and I feel my body unwillingly jerk. For a minute the world is silent.

A searing pain rips through my torso and I stumble briefly, trying to catch my breath.

I look down, feeling a warm liquid pouring over me, and I want to scream. The front of my uniform is crimson and the recesses of my mind unite to scream that the end is on it's way. My shoots into overdrive, and for a flicker of a second, I realize that this must be my mind flashing before my eyes. Thousands of thoughts and memories flood into one long film of my life; I see my smiling brothers, Pony winning his first track meet, Darry sobbing over our parents deaths, my draft letter, the gang, Dally getting shot...I see everything. The world around me becomes dull and it feels like my whole body and mind are trying to rush out of the one little bullet hole.

The next thing my mind registers is the ground rushing towards me and everything melting into a black abyss.

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Hahahah, he's dead. Psych! Or is he? Guess you'll have to find out next chapter. Sorry for like, the 2 month absence, the school year started and you know how that goes. I'll update faster in the future. What did you guys think of this chapter?


	4. Chapter 4

-2 weeks later-

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"Pony! Pony, wake up!"

Someone is shaking my shoulder violently; I try to tell them to stop it so I can get back to sleep, but a slur of incomprehensible words tumble out of my mouth in response.

"Dang it Pony, you're gonna be late to school again and I gotta go to work! Wake up!"

The wheels in my sleep-fogged mind slowly being to turn.

School. Darry. Monday. Late.

Late.

Late?!

I spring from my bed and look at my clock. The red numbers welcome me with '7:50 a.m.'. I feel my mouth hang open in shock. School starts in 10 minutes. It takes at least 20 minutes to get to school if

I walk. I'll never make it!

I rush around my room, tearing drawers open and searching frantically for clothes. I glance down to see an old shirt and pants I wore a few days ago.

That will have to do.

I throw on my jacket and manage to put one of my shoes. I try to put on my other shoe while walking down the hall to the kitchen.

The result is an awkward, hopping like dance that finally ends in me getting my shoe on. I run into the kitchen searching for a scrap of food that could be floating about.

Nothing.

I'll have to skip today.

Darry is already throwing his coat on and making a beeline for the front door. Darry is the only way I can remedy this situation! I lunge across the den.

"Darry, will you please give me a ride?! I'll never make it there just walking! If I'm late one more time, Mr. Wilson will give me a detention!" I plead and hope that I can appeal to his big brother sense of caring, but the look Darry shoots me dashes all hope.

"Ponyboy, I went into your room at 7 to wake you up! I really got to get to work! I gave you a ride last time and as a result _I _was late, I can't be late again or you know what will happen!"

Darry's eyes are ice cold and his jaw is set as he goes to reach for the door handle.

I feel a bit bad for asking him to give me a ride, when I already know how important his job is. I mentally sigh, not looking forward to the stares I'm gonna get when I roll into class late…not to mention the detention.

"Listen, you'll be doing me a big favor if you can get there yourself Pony, I feel bad for denying you a ride, but I really need to get to work on time today."

I give up. I start walking out the door, passed Darry. I have to start running now if I want to make it to school even remotely close to when the bell rings.

"It's alright Dar, I'll see you later!". I give a wave backwards as I run down the steps of our porch. I cringe at having to run so early in the morning, the morning chill making my cheeks tingle. I shake it off and start to pick up my pace until I come to a steady jog.

My mind goes over all the shortcuts I could take and I finally decide to cut behind the DX and run down Archer Street, then hop the fence of the public library and run down Denver Street. If I pick up the pace I could get to school in about 8 minutes, right when the bell rings.

Pounding my legs a little faster I round the familiar corner that leads to the DX and can't help but try and block the images of Soda that come to mind. I think back to his old letter and realize that soon I should be getting a new letter from Soda. I smile as the old gas station lines my view, cars already parked outside, waiting to be fixed. I run behind the DX and sprint through the tall weeds that line the walkway. I easily jump the fence and quickly make my way to down Archer Street.

My breath quickly comes out in puffs of vapor and my legs are beginning to burn slightly.

I stop at a stop sign and narrowly avoid stepping into the street as a car rolls quickly past. Looking both ways, and no cars coming into sight, I sprint across the street, the old public library coming into view. I record time I'm over the fence and practically sprinting down Denver Street.

The outline of the school can be seen through the trees and without looking I sprint across the street.

A loud screech reaches my ears and I feel myself lurch forward as something hits me, flinging me to the concrete. The world goes white in electrifying pain, darks spots slowly bleeding through my vision until my eyesight goes completely black.

I hear panicked screaming of "He's been hit!" and "Someone get to a phone and call 911!", before my mind goes numb to the pain and the world grows quiet.

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Holy car crash Batman! That was intense! Just when you thought it was safe to read a nice wholesome chapter, BAM, Pony gets hit!

There will be a new chapter soon cause this one was so short. And no one will die or get hurt in the next chapter (awwww), this story isn't a complete death show. Like always, tell me what you thought.


	5. Chapter 5

"Mr. Curtis…Mr. Curtis, are you awake? Can you hear my voice?"

I feel cold metal touch my bare chest and I twitch, sending pulses of pain through my torso. I let out a groan of pain.

"Well, his heartbeat is constant and his reflexes seem to be kicking back in!" Someone announces too happily. I attempt to open my eyes.

My sight is white and blurry, dark shapes moving about in my line of vision. I shut my eyes, trying to banish the brightness. Slowly, after a few moments I open them again and my blurry vision morphs into the crisp image of a hospital bed.

Confusion flutters into my mind and I try to move, a stab of pain ricocheting through my chest. I fall back onto the pillow with a grunt of pain.

"Do you know where you are Mr. Curtis?"

I nodded, assuming I was in a hospital.

"My name is Doctor Miles, you've been in a coma for about two weeks," he elaborates.

I try to ask how I got here, but a slur of syllables comes out instead of words, my mouth is dry and I cough loudly. Immediately, a nurse appears at the side of my bed, offering me a glass of water, telling me to not drink to fast.

I drink the glass in record time, ignoring the nurse's instructions. I go to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and an IV greets me, imbedded in my hand.

"W-what happened?" I ask.

Doctor Miles immediately starts filling me in on the details of how I landed myself in the hospital.

"Your platoon was overrun by a small group of fighters, many of your comrades survived, I'm pleased to say, but a few were not too lucky. You were shot in the chest and practically bled to death, but the quick thinking of your fellow soldiers saved your life."

My eyes quickly land on the IV, which leads to a small bag of blood hanging next to my bed. I feel my eyebrow quirk at the blood.

"Just an extra precaution…like I said, you lost a lot of blood," the doctor assures.

I stare at the IV drip and the memories start to slowly come back to me. I remember the dirt road. A conversation about cigarettes. Making jokes to Terry.

Terry.

Oh God.

"Doctor! Did you get a guy in here named Terry Heaton? He's in my platoon, he's got blond hair and he's constantly talking?" I practically beg, grabbing the doctor's arm.

The doctor eyes me and lets out a sigh. "If I remember correctly, we did get a Mr. Terrance Heaton, but he was dead even before he got here," he says quietly. He pats my shoulder softly and my vision starts to blur. Warm tears slip down my face.

Poor Terry. I had just been cracking jokes with him, talking about blonds and his family. I think of his family and his poor mother; what would she think? I feel myself choke as I think about how his brother George, so eager for his only brother to get back from the war, would finally get Terry back.

In a box.

I hear myself mumble a quiet request for a sheet of paper and a pen, as a few more tears run down my face.

A delicate hand presses against my back, making small circles. I look up and my eyes meet the nurse who got me the water. The doctor has slipped away.

She stands by my bedside, trying to make me feel better. I hear her say things like "He didn't feel a thing" and "He's in a better place", but I know that Terry did feel a lot. He felt a damn good amount of pain.

His terror and pain stricken face flashes through my mind and I see his eyes go dull as the life slips out of him.

Someone clears their throat. The doctor is back, holding a crisp white sheet of paper and a black pen.

He gives me a sad nod.

"I'll come back in a few hours and talk to you more then, you can take care of any business you need to right now," he assures. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder how many similar situations like this the Doctor Miles has been through. He slowly walks away, stopping at a bed about 10 feet away; the patient lying in the bed is completely covered in bandages and both his legs are carried in slings. I gulp and a pain from my wound rings through me.

I'm momentarily lost in silence until it is broken by the nurse, still next to me. I had forgotten she was there.

"Hun, you just yell if you need anything…tell me when you need me to send that letter out, okay?" the nurse tells me. She shoots me a sorrowful glance and walks away.

I'm alone and the sounds of the hospital start to echo around me, the cries and moans of pain from soldiers bouncing off the walls. I try to block it out and look down at the piece of paper.

The pen feels heavy in my hand and my mind goes blank.

What do I tell his family?

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I lift the box of shingles up, balancing it's heavy weight between both my hands. I slowly make my way over to the machinery that will hoist the box of shingles to the roof. Dropping the box, I let out a quick puff of air and stretch my muscles, it's only 8:30 and I'm already feeling the full effect of the days work.

I clap my gloves together, dirt and dust puffing into the air. I locate the next box of shingles that need to be moved and start to make my way to them, when my concentration is shattered by the blips of a police siren.

I turn around and the cops are already out of the car, talking to my boss. All the guys have stopped working and the usually bustling scene is silent. My boss nods his head and momentarily brings his hand up to his forehead, an act I realize which can either mean worry, sadness, or stress…or maybe all three of them. He glances up and his eyes find me.

Our gaze's lock longer then needed, longer then a passing glance, and I realize that the cops are here for me.

Worry plummets through me like a rock and I hold my breath as the cops slowly make their way towards me.

Oh God.

Soda.

Something has happened to Soda. I know it. What if he was shot or injured or…I try to snap myself out of my worried thoughts as the police officer starts to speak to me.

"Are you Darryl Curtis?" the officer asks. I nod my head, and open my mouth to speak, but the words won't come out. I nod my head again and a quiet "Yeah" pops out of my mouth. The two cops glance at each other.

"Sir, we're going to need you to come with us. We're sorry to say it, but something has happened to your brother."

I flinch and the world goes silent. The only things in it are me and the cops. I open my mouth to ask the question, the question I secretly don't want answered. I try to guess at what could have happened to Soda.

"How bad was it, was he shot or was it something else?" I manage to spit out.

The cop's brow knots and I wonder how bad it really is.

"Shot? No son, your brother was hit by a car."

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Ohhhh, wrong brother, Darry. Gosh, I wish I got paid for being this tragic. Next chapter will be up soon!


	6. Chapter 6

The drive to the hospital is a blur.

I remember the cops telling me my kid brother had been hit by a car, running quickly towards my truck, and than the sterile smell of the hospital hit me full force.

I frantically make my way to the nurse's desk in the emergency room, nearly tripping over a man in a wheelchair and knocking down a child in crutches. The bland desk in the hub of the room stands like a beacon of light in my mind and I feel myself let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

I run up to the desk, slightly out of breath. The woman behind the glass doesn't smile, just opens the glass and questions me.

"Yes sir, may I help you?"

I try to get out my words, stuttering, "M-m-my name's Darryl Curtis, I was just contacted by the police that my brother got hit by a car, t-t-they said he'd be here?" I fumble.

The nurse's face shows a flicker of emotion before returning to a stony, apathetic look. I try to place it: fear, sorrow, regret, pity? She grabs a clipboard from a rack and flips through some pages.

"Yes, a Ponyboy Curtis was brought in a few minutes ago, he seems to be suffering from severe trauma to the head and chest. We had to re-inflate one of his lungs and he seems to have multiple fractures." She spits out robotically.

I feel like I'm going to vomit.

Tingling fear shoots up my spinal cord and radiates through my limbs. Did they raise the temperature in here? Why is it so hot? The only thing that flashes through my mind is what I said to Pony earlier. He asked me for a ride.

He had asked me for a ride.

I feel like I'm going to pass out.

Breath taking guilt sweeps through me and my body burns with regret. If I had just spared him running to school, if I had just shown up a few minutes late, Pony would be in school right now, not lying in a hospital bed. If I had _only_ given him a ride, this could have all been avoided. It's all my fault, all my fault, _all my fault_!

It echoes in my mind over and over, like a broken record.

If only I had given him a ride.

"Sir?"

I blink, coming out of my stupor. The nurse is surveying me, almost gauging me to see if I'm going to freak out.

"Sir, perhaps you should sit down?" she motions towards the waiting room. Instantly, I snap awake and realize the situation I'm in. I plant my hands on the desk.

"Ma'am, can I see my brother, is he awake? How bad is it, I mean _really_, how bad is it? Is he going' to make it?" the questions pour out of y mouth faster then I can realize what I'm asking. Images of my parents in the hospital, of Dally and Johnny ricochet through my mind. Oh God, oh God. What if? What if he doesn-

I cut my thoughts off.

He'll make it. So help me, he'll make it. He'll be fine.

The nurse eyes me. "I'm sorry Sir, but our emergency room policy states that family is not allowed in the emergency work area if the patient has been resuscitated; it can get in the way of the doctors." She explains slowly, as if I'm about to lunge across the desk and beat the living daylights out of her.

I think about it.

How can they refuse me to see my brother?

"Ma'am please, I need to see him, I need to know that," I gulp, "he's still alive." I beg, I am literally begging this woman to please, please, let me see Pony. She doesn't know anything. She has no idea that our parents are dead, our friends are dead, and that my other brother is on the other side of the world. She has no idea what me and my brothers have been through. How dare she tell me I can't see my brother! She sits in her closed of, isolated desk, immune to the suffering going on around her. At the end of the day, she always goes home and gets paid; it doesn't matter to her who lives or dies.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but that's our policy," she says sternly, "please have a seat in the waiting room and we will call you if there is any change in your brother's situation." She motions to the waiting room.

My mother always told me to never hit a woman, that it was wrong and indecent, but by God, I really wanted to hit this lady.

But I know, that if I keep arguing with this woman, they'll throw me out, and I'll never get to see Ponyboy. My glance goes downcast and I mumble a quick "thanks" and make my way to the waiting room.

Sitting in the closest seat to the nurse's desk, I throw my entire wait into the seat. I glance around the room as I wait. There's a lady with her toddler, who's crawling all over the place, desperate for some sort of escape from the boredom of the waiting room. I glance at the clock; it reads 9:42. I bring my hands to my face and close my eyes. Letting out a long breath, it morphs into a sob, which I quickly try to hold in.

No.

No.

I would not break down, not in this waiting room. I had to be strong. Strong for Ponyboy.

I sit in the chair, the day's events folding out in my mind over and over again. I think about where I went wrong, and how if I had only sparred a few minutes, Ponyboy would be safe and sound in class. I think about God and how I hate him right now for taking everyone away from me. Mom, Dad, Dally, Johnny, Soda…and now, maybe Ponyboy. What had I ever done wrong to deserve all this? What had my innocent kid brother done to deserve getting hit by a car? All Pony has ever been was kind to others. All he did was try to understand the world around him; how could this happen to him?

Out of all the thoughts that rush through my mind, only one stays stuck in it:

What was I going to tell Soda?

* * *

I lay sore in the hospital bed. Sometimes, it's hard to breath and the nurses come by and ask if I would like oxygen. I always decline; it's not that bad and I don't need them to waste it on me.

I numbly look at the letter in my hand, my heart falling as I read over the address on it.

I try to imagine what would happen when Terry's parents got the letter.

His brother would run into the kitchen saying that there was a letter from some guy with a funny name and hand it to his mother. She would probably eye the envelope and wonder if this was some sort of weird company trying to get money from her or something like that. She would open it and be surprised to see that it was a handwritten letter.

I'm sure she would scan the first few lines interestingly and then her heart would shatter into a million little pieces.

I try not to imagine what would happen next.

I feel warm tears stream down my face and try to wipe them away with the back of my hand before I remember that I have an IV hooked in. Sniffing slightly, I try to preoccupy my mind with something else.

I look around the small hospital and I look to see who's in the beds next to me.

There's a guy completely covered in bandages to my right and he's missing both legs. I feel myself outwardly cringe at his condition. I wonder if he has woken up yet at all. In the bed to my left there's a man with bandages around his head and his right eye. He also has some bandages along his chest.

I was so preoccupied with checking out the man's wounds that I didn't notice him looking at me. When he speaks it startles me.

"What you lookin' at kid?" his heavy northern accent obvious.

I stumble with an apology and sound like an idiot. _Nice Soda_, I scold myself. I finally slip out a quick apology. When I hear a deep, sandpapery laugh come from the man.

"Aw shit kid, I was just jokin' with you, no need to get all worked up," he laughs. I try to laugh with him, but my laugh comes out strangled. He eyes me and gauges my wounds.

"So, what happened to you?" he asks loudly.

I'm slightly taken off guard at his question, not expecting to be asked so outright about it…but now that I think about it, what else did we have to talk about?

"I got shot in the chest," I explain, giving him the shortened version of what had happened. I hear him whistle.

"Damn, usually the ones who get shot in the chest don't make it, you know, you got so many damn organs in there," he explains. I feel my stomach twist, and I can't help but think about how close I came to death. I snap out of it quickly and ask what happened to him.

"Me? So there I was, out in some God forsaken little piece of shit town, when the bombs start goin' off," he starts in dramatically, "so all these kids are runnin' around, confused and scared as Hell, when a grenade drops right dead in the center of the town. There was a kid real close to me, but closer to the grenade, so I tried to block him from it. The kid lived, got some scratches, but I lost my eye and got some pretty bad burns on my chest." I stare in awe at his story.

"Jeeze, you were lucky," I hear myself squeak out.

He gives me a look with his one eye.

"I don't regret it at all, I'm glad I saved the kid," he says, in a serious tone. I nod in understanding. We eventually start to talking. His name is James, Jimmy for short, and he tells me about his family in New York, two little girls and "a smokin' hot wife". He smiles and tells me about how he and his wife met in high school and have been going strong for 12 years.

"A day doesn't go by when I don't miss my girls," he explains, with a sad look in his eye.

I tell him about Tulsa and all about Pony and Darry, how our parents died when we were young and how Darry works so hard, Pony's really smart, and I work at a gas station. I tell him how I dropped out of high school and he lets out an irritated sound. I look at him and he seems ort of mad.

"No kid, never would I allow my girls to skip out of high school, it'll get you nowhere in life," he points his finger at me, "you do yourself, me, and your family a favor and get your ass back in school as soon as you get home." The tone in his voice sends shivers down my spine and I feel bad for the boyfriends that his daughters will bring home in the future.

"Well, I don't know when I'll get to go home," I ponder out loud. I hear Jimmy let out a loud laugh.

"Damn kid, with the wound you got, you'll be on your way home in no time!"

Its hits me that maybe he's right, maybe I'll be able to get back to Darry and Pony sooner then I think.

* * *

Two hours crawl by as I wait in the waiting room.

I feel like I'm about to go insane.

I asked the nurse three times if there had been any change, or if she could even tell me what was going on, but she always replied with a stern request to go back to my seat, and that if anything changed she would inform me immediately.

I sigh and glance at the clock, it reads 11:53. I get to my feet and walk around a little, trying to keep myself occupied. I get up to look at the magazines again, all of which I have read. I hear the nurse's voice in shushed tones and I look over to the desk. A doctor is standing at the window, discussing a clipboard with her; she looks up and points to me and the doctor nods.

He starts walking towards me and my nerves shoot through the roof.

"Mr. Darrel Curtis, here for a Ponyboy Curtis?" he questions.

I get up and shake his hand.

"How is he doctor?" I ask quickly.

The doctor gives me a look and I feel the world go quiet.

"Son, I'm so sorry, your brother didn't make it."

* * *

Whoa. It's been a long time. FORGIVE ME PLEASE.

That's right, I killed Pony. Like always, please tell me what you thought.


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